


The Divine Music

by DenseHumboldt



Series: Advent 2019 [3]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: F/M, Phantom of the Opera AU, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21903751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenseHumboldt/pseuds/DenseHumboldt
Summary: Phantom of the Opera AU
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Yon-Rogg
Series: Advent 2019 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565644
Comments: 30
Kudos: 20





	1. Think of Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnonymousMink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousMink/gifts).



> This is a long-overdue gift for the true goddess of fandom, AnonymousMink. I am but your humble sycophant and I hope you know my love and adoration of you is as deep and unending as the ocean that separates us.  
> ❤💚💜💙DH

It all came down to culture. An evocative beautiful word. Civilization. A word of dreams. A vision of soaring above the base and mammalian beginnings. To reach the summit home of the Gods. To create. It was alchemy. It was instinctive. It was deliciously feral in its tenacity.

Culture was a refined marble temple built on bloody sand. None more so than music. Music which invaded the cells and vibrated until the heart beat a new rhythm.

The Hala opera house was the finest in a thousand galaxies. Designed by a long-dead race it was never duplicated or surpassed. Nor would it be. For the Opera House was alive. It was possessed by a spirit, a powerful spirit that few understood and less saw.

A spirit that was soon to be shaken for the opera house had a new keeper, Ronan, had taken it over as part of his mission to champion Kree Culture to the far reaches of the universe.

He had come that day to inspect his new charge. He found the Opera house darkened and quiet. The faint sounds that filtered through the enamelled walls were the rich round tones of an orchestra. He opened the doors and slipped into the darkened theatre. Far below, down hundreds of steps, the stage was a small glowing jewel. The shapes that moved across it no more than blue flecks of light across a facet.

He descended the steps slowly. The flecks became long-limbed swans. They moved in near-perfect until a sharp sound rapped the boards. The ballet master Yon-Rogg moved among them.

"You aren't focusing," he said matter of factly as he wove between the beauties. He stopped before the lead dancer, she relaxed into first position her head bowed. He brought the head of his cane gently below her chin and lifted it. "It is your job to lead them."

"I know, Master," she said softly. Her eyes were dark and her long black hair was tied away from her face. She was sapphire blue in white tulle.

"Vers," Yon-Rogg extended his hand gracefully and snapped his fingers with a gentle flex of his wrist.

A girl came from the wings, she was gold and pink. She walked with her head high and her spine in a gentle curve. No one marked Ronan despite his height, the darkness hid him and all eyes were on the dance master. Except her, her eyes defiant flicked to him for a moment.

"Minn-Erva stand in the wings," Yon-Rogg said with a gentle tilt of his head. The dancer held his eyes for a moment before lowering her eyes and moving to the side. He pointed to the lead dancer spot "Vers, stand here."

The Dance master leaned into her, a hand on her bare shoulder. He said something softly to her that Ronan could not hear. He marked it though, the small intimacy between them.

Yon-Rogg returned to the musicians' side and rapped the sprung boards of the stage once more. The girl looked at Yon-Rogg for a moment, his eyes bored into her and she seemed to grow taller under his attention, she licked a smile from her lips as the first note was struck.

She moved beautifully but with less precision, Ronan cocked his head as he watched them. He saw a raw appeal to her, to the way the dancers moved under her lead. This wasn't Kree. He was about to interrupt when there was a loud clapping from the back of the stage. Yon looked to the group descending from behind the scenes and brought his cane down hard only then did the music and the dancers stop.

"You train them too hard Menseigner Rogg," a pigeon chested man in a red coat admonished the Dance Master. Yon bit his cheek and tilted his head. Patient but annoyed.

"It is our stage, Menseigner Kal," Yon said as he swept his arm to indicate the brightly lit shell. A woman bustled past Kal, a large feather bobbed on her head and her gown glittered like a nebula.

"The new Keeper of the Opera House comes tonight, Rogg. I must sing for him. I cannot sing if I am not warmed up," she spoke like knives, the cold smile never leaving her lips. Ronan recognized the pale man behind her as Woh-Lar the last Keeper of the Opera House. This woman must be the Dama Lor-Fal, lead singer of the Opera. The vessel of all Kree superiority and refinement. Ronan thought she glittered cheaply.

"What has become of your dressing room, Dama?" Yon-Rogg inquired with cold concern. Lor-Fal drew a deep breath, straightening her spine so her feather bobbed even higher above Rogg's head. This display had to end.

Ronan clapped his hands emerging from the dark.

"Brava," he answered. The Opera House seemed to catch hold of his baritone voice and shudder it back to him. Every crinkle of cloth and shuffling foot was painfully clear as they turned to him. Woh-Lar recognized him first, he wrung his hands and fumbled through the crowd.

"Ronan, I say, you are early" Woh-Lar announced as he reached the edge of the stage. He extended his hand down and Ronan gripped his forearm in greeting. This seemed to snap everyone into motion as Lor-Fal pushed forward curtseying and smiling.

"Ronan, the pleasure is immense. How did you hide there so silently?" Lor-Fal asked beguilingly as she reached out her hand. Ronan kissed it and she lowered her eyes a pretty blush coming to her cheeks.

"I was spellbound by the grandeur," Ronan answered. He felt the girl's eyes on him. He felt her doubt keenly. It made him want to leap on the stage and shake her by the shoulders. Demand she show him what he could not see.

"I was going to sing," Lor-Fal said sweetly, she fluttered her eyes as if aware his attention was slipping.

"I would love nothing more," Ronan answered.

Yon-Rogg leaned into Or-Kal's ear and said only to him, "it is the corps' time on stage, changing plan will anger-"

"Your lead dancer stands in the wings and your wild thing is in her place. It is you who upset the natural order first," Or-Kal hissed back, barely twisting his body to speak. Yon-Rogg straightened, his eyes moving from Vers to Minn-Erva's dark stare.

Woh-Lar, Lor-Fal and Ronan were looking at them.

"Is there a problem?" Ronan asked as Lor-Fal made exasperated gestures over his shoulder. Woh-Lar wrung his hands more. Or-Kal smiled tightly and opened his mouth, placations ready to spill.

"The Divine Music of the Hala Opera House prefers their schedule to be kept," Yon-Rogg said firmly.

"The Divine Music?" Ronan repeated.

"The AI that Keeps the Opera House. They are particular."

"As I am now the Keeper of the Opera House, I can assure you I am particular. I would like to see Dama Fal sing," Ronan answered him with a dismissive look.

Yon-Rogg inclined his head and gestured with a smooth lift of his arms for the dancers to clear the stage. They moved quickly, their tulle shivering and bouncing as they gathered themselves in the wings. Only the girl walked slowly. She waited long enough for Yon-Rogg to begin walking towards his dancers, only then did she fall into step. Ronan watched them transfixed for a moment before returning his eyes to Lor-Fal.

"I believe tonight's performance is to be Öörchlögdo. There is an aria before the Commander leads the charge against the Skrulls. I would love to hear it, Dama."

Lor-Fal inclined her head and bobbed a little curtsey before sweeping up her skirts in her hands and walking to the musicians. She urged them with her hand and an impatient lift of her eyebrow. They stared back at her until Or-Kal leaned in and whispered something that could have been "for the love of the Divine, play."

The music struck up and the aria began. Lor-Fal's voice was impossible to deny, it was loud and all-encompassing. Ronan braced against the power of it. It was not beautiful but did inspire awe, like a giant sea beast breaking the surf. Lor-Fal dropped her jaw and expanded her chest, drawing breath as a high note approached. At that moment, the Opera house groaned and from the floorboards, silver tentacles rose and gripped Lor-Fal's legs. She shrieked as they rose over the instruments as well. The musicians backed away quickly and the stage was taken over by cries and the shuffle of bodies moving away.

Lor-Fal tried to free herself as everyone, even Ronan backed away from her wild-eyed.

A blonde head broke through the crowd and ran to the centre of the stage. Lor-Fal recoiled from Vers as hard as from the tentacles. Disgust contorted her expressive features.

The girl did not spare Lor-Fal even a look. She placed herself in first position. She moved easily into the dance, choreography they had been practicing before the interruption. From above them in the tower of the opera house, as if played back in the vacuous bladders of a creature, music echoed. Yon-Rogg pushed more dancers forward. They trembled but they joined Vers on stage. Each falling into graceful unison with their leader.

The slither of retreating tentacle could be heard beneath the moaning tune. Lor-Fal began to fall back as she was released. Or-Kal ran forward and caught her. Woh-Lar paced nervously and Yon-Rogg had eyes only for his dancers. Ronan watched the scene unfold with confusion. What had happened?

"Stop all of this," Lor-Fal screamed over the haunting music. Yon-Rogg struck the ground with his cane. The dancers and the music stopped. Lor-Fal was gripped in Or-Kal's arms. She would not be comforted. "I grow tired of this madness."

"Dama, I do not understand what I have seen-" Ronan began coming closer to the stage.

"You do not understand? You do not understand?" Lor-Fal broke away from Or-Kal. She was hysterical. "We live under tyranny, sir."

She pointed an accusing finger at Woh-Lar who seemed to shrivel beneath her gaze, "and he does nothing about it. The Divine won't even speak to him. It is Yon-Rogg who they commune with, and all has fallen to madness as he cares nothing for the singers."

Yon-Rogg bristled at the accusation but he said nothing. The girl looked at him, a serious pleading look, but her Menseigner kept his head bowed.

"Look how it is only the ballet that pleases them," Lor-Fal continued to hurl accusations, her feather askew and her blue flesh flushed. "I will not go where I am not wanted. Find another Dama."

With that, she hurtled from the stage. Or-Kal and Woh-Lar seemed to follow her but their footsteps slowed and they turned to Ronan. Ronan looked only at Rogg.

"It seems we have an opera tonight and no Dama," Ronan observed coldly. "We have never missed a performance and I will not have my watch begin in this manner. Rogg as you seem at the centre of this, do you have a suggestion?"

"Vers can sing the role," Yon-Rogg answered without pause. Or-Kal laughed and Woh-Lar seemed weakened by his frustration.

"Your protege is not endlessly talented," Or-Kal mocked him. "The Dama is the most glorious woman of all Kree. She is the vessel of our enlightenment. And you would put forth an orphan from a backwater?"

Vers clenched her fists and looked at the ground as if she was trying to contain a mighty wave of rage.

"I took her as my protege because she had been blessed by the Divine," Yon-Rogg answered crossing to his student who stood stock still at centre front. He brought his arm around her shoulder and with the butt of his cane gently tilted up her head so the long strong column of her throat was exposed. "They will let her sing."

As if to answer his statement, the haunting music began again. Vers looked nervously over her shoulder into the eyes of her master. He nodded encouragingly, a thousand words seemed to pass through their gaze. She looked at the audience again. Her spine swayed slightly back and as the music built she drew air into her lungs.

At her moment she sang the first clear note and it was like the Opera house was bathed in golden light. Ronan stood in awe of her as he felt around him the shock of all the opera company.

* * *

Vers exited the stage her nerves still buzzing. She felt as if she had been soaring through the atmosphere. As if she had found her true power. Behind her applause thundered still but she would not go out again. She needed to retreat. She needed a moment to feel the triumph and joy that spread through her.

A shadow stepped in her path.

"Everything has changed for you then, Twinkle Toes," Minn-Erva insulted her. Vers pushed passed, her jewel-encrusted skirt catching on the tulle of Minn-Erva's costume. "Pray tell who is your tutor? Can anyone engage him? How damming is his fee?"

Vers twisted in her escape to narrow her eyes at Minn-Erva. "Even if I could tell you I would not. You are unworthy of him."

She stormed off, her joy blackening to rage. When she entered the Dama's dressing room it was full of flowers. Tall cascading columns with perfume so strong it made her throat sting. Someone moved among the blooms in a black coat. She tensed.

"I came to tell you that you were perfect, but it seems my sentiments have been outdone."

Vers relaxed. She breathed a sigh of relief, "it is you."

"Who else would it be?" He teased, brushing a perfect white blossom with a long delicate finger. He moved so beautifully it made something deep inside Vers ache.

"I don't care to imagine. Yours is the only good opinion I seek," she swept further into the room and turned her back to him. She pulled her long curling blonde hair over her shoulder and bowed her head. Yon-Rogg did not need to be asked, he stepped behind her and his fingers found the fastenings of her costume. He began with the glittering outer layer, unhooking the hook and eyes slowly. She wore so many layers she could barely feel his hands, but her spine tingled at his closeness. His touch, even when it was correcting her, even when it was impatient was a deep pleasure she pulled all the way to her core and buried as a secret shame.

"Do not say that," he said softly. His words caressing the exposed vee at her back. "Your other master is who you owe all this to."

Vers held her breath as he pushed the glittering cracking fabric down her arms. She pulled free of it. His hands loosening the laces of her corset. The backs of his fingers brushing for a moment her shoulder blades. She could live, trembling, in this moment forever. The Divine did not scare her, but the thought of Yon-Rogg no longer being her teacher did. She felt the pull and jerk of him untying the waist stays of her crinoline.

"If you put your arm across my shoulders, I will free you," he brought her back into the moment. Without hesitation, Vers twisted in the jewelled cage and wrapped her arms around his neck. He lifted her with ease and she curled her long lean legs to his chest, his arm sweeping beneath them, so he could step them away. The costume stood like a ghost as she was cradled for a moment against his chest. She straightened her legs slowly, and he lowered her gracefully until her feet were once again beneath her. She could watch them in the mirror, a guilty pleasure imagining dancing with him. His strong hands easily encircling, pushing her to greater heights and cleaner forms. He stepped away and she felt the immediate longing for his return. He brought her a robe and she shrugged into it.

"Menseigner," she pleaded softly. He paused his hands on her shoulder.

"Yes?" He looked at her, she moved her mouth uselessly. She did not know what she wanted to say. What she could say.

"Thank you for believing in me," she said dully. Stupidly. It was only the surface of what she longed to say.

"Do not thank me. Thank your true master when he comes to you tonight."

He slipped away from her and out the small stage door. She curled her fingers against the desire to catch his lapel and hold him there. She sat at her dressing table and began to pull out the glittering ornaments that had been placed in her hair.

There was a knock at her dressing room door. She furrowed her brow as she turned in her seat. Ronan entered. His massive build dominated the room already bursting with flowers. He smiled a gleaming smile at her. His teeth were whiter for the darkness of his blue complexion.

"I see you received my offering."

"I did, thank you, sir," Vers turned back to the mirror and watch Ronan close the distance between them in two long strides. Her stomach clenched. This could not have been who Yon-Rogg meant, she thought as her hand untangled a pin. Ronan took her hand from her crown and pressed it to his lips. He caressed with his thumb the delicate fold of skin between her thumb and her index finger. His dark eyes held hers in the mirror.

"Change and come to dinner with me," he said.

"I can't sir," she looked away from him in the mirror. She took up a brush to work out the curls they had put into her hair.

"Nonsense," he said his deep voice echoing in her chest. "I will return in ten minutes."

He swept from the room and anger gripped Vers' chest. She stood and went to storm through the small stage door, she could escape into the twisting bowels of the opera house. Something in the full-length mirror caught her eye.

A shadow.

A man, in silhouette on the other side of the glimmering darkness. Vers should feel fear but she did not. All she felt was a blossoming unfurling curiosity. Yon's words came back to her, her true master.

She placed her hands on the cold glass. The man placed his hand over hers and then she was falling.


	2. The Phantom of the Opera

She was falling and then she was being held. Dozens or maybe hundreds of filament wires reached out to her. They passed her gently downward. Or at least she thought it was downward. She had lost all sense of orientation. It seemed to her the mirror had dissolved and behind it was a dark shaft heading into the deep bowels of the Opera House. Even as she rejected the possibility she seemed to be travelling, falling gently, cradled by the strange silver wires that peeled off the brick walls where they grew like climbing vines.

There was no sign of the man but Vers knew he would be waiting for her at the end of this journey. He was the one she had been waiting to appear. Her true master, as Yon had called him. He had never before shown his face but he had made his presence known. He had guided her to higher heights through his teaching. The invisible guiding of his hand contrasted so thoroughly with Yon's training. Where Yon was tactile, passionate, sweat and blood manifested into physical perfection this teacher was subtlety. He seeped through the walls of the Opera House and expanded her mind.

She remembered Yon discovering them. She had thought her practicing place secluded. It was deep inside the twisting tunnels of the Opera House. A forgotten room with a curving roof that echoed pitch back to her in beautiful round notes. At first, she had been alone in her endeavours but as she sang the inside of the room had come alive like glimmering mother of pearl. Irridescent light in all the colours of the spectrum waved over the walls. Vers had learned through painstaking repetition what it was the lights and colours wanted from her. She learned to speak to it, to shape her notes to please it.

"What are you doing here?"

She had jumped almost out of her skin. The panic broke her note and she was plunged into darkness.

"Menseigner Rogg," the words had come from her throat as helplessly as a cough. Her feet instinctively found first position and she bowed her head.

"Vers," he had hissed her name at her. Something quivered in her as if she was a badly behaving child. She clenched her jaw. "What are you doing?"

"I am only singing," she said innocently. She had feared he would be angry, that he would think she was abandoning the corps. "I enjoy it. I think I might have-"

"You plumb your past when your new life is ahead of you," he said sternly walking into the darkened room. He allowed the door to shut behind him. The darkness was then complete. She became more aware of him in the tiny space. She could feel his slow circling like currents. Even though she knew his focus was on the walls, she felt it was her he encircled. Weaving around her some spell so she was scared to move. She felt the smooth polished end of the cane he carried press in the soft place of her jaw. His refusal to touch her, to touch anyone made the moments his hands did instinctively reach for her more precious.

The tip of his cane connected them, created a bridge between their bodies. She longed to grabbed the smooth polished wood and drag him closer. To bury her fist in the same soft place on him and tilt his head. To demand to know if he liked it.

She wondered if he might. If without thinking he might yield to such a motion. She wanted him to yield to her.

"I meant no disrespect to your training, Menseigner," she said as the cane pulled away.

"Sing a note," he commanded.

"What?" Her mind stuttered in its understanding.

"A musical note, Vers. Sing one. Show me."

She swallowed, all moisture seemed to have fled her mouth, throat and lungs. She let her jaw relax and a hesitant note uncoiled.

The walls barely flickered.

"Like you were before," he said, stern and impatient. He jabbed his stick into her belly. Instinctively she caught it, feeling the gentle undulation of the wood in the circle of her fingers. She was aware of each rib as she sang again and he pressed it forward encouraging her to empty her lungs.

The colours returned, making her bold, painting the notes across the plaster. Yon looked around in awe before his gold eyes returned to her. When she closed her mouth the room went dark again.

She waited for Yon-Rogg's words. She felt as if she had born a piece of herself and longed for his approval.

"Give me your hands," he directed her, reaching with his for her.

"What?" Her eyes widened trying to pull in light that wasn't there.

"I am beginning to think that is the only word you know," he teased her, extending his hands more insistently. She laid hers in his and he guided her with graceful steps deeper into the room. She felt as if they were the lead dancers, the audience watching as he drew her gently across the stage. Their bodies more in sync than lovers. Only they were alone now. He paused before the wall, his back to it. He lifted her one hand and placed it flat against the cold plaster. She was leaning into him for the briefest moment before he slipped and came behind her. His feet bracketed one of hers, she could feel the strength of his thigh against the back of her legs. His right hand moved to her stomach, just below the crest of her ribs. She tried to look over her shoulder at him but the cane came up and guided her to look at the blank darkness of the wall. He laid it aside and lifted her other hand and pressed it to the wall as well. Vers felt cold slither over her hand but she could not see. She longed to pull her hands away but he held her wrist, keeping her in place.

"Menseigner?" She breathed in confusion as she felt herself in his embrace.

"Do not worry, it is only in case you pass out. You are no good to me injured."

"Why would I pass out?" She repeated. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity but her heart was thudding too hard.

"Sing again," his hand sat firmer on her stomach, ready to urge her. "Properly."

She took a breath, feeling the expanding of her body bringing him closer. She sang and the colours returned.

Only this time she was falling.

Not as she was falling now. Now there was the movement of the air and no Yon-Rogg to catch her. Now she was travelling, to him.

The ground was nearing, she could see light from a lantern. It bounced upon the arching walls of the Opera House's lowest levels. A forbidden place kept freezing cold and immersed in darkness for this was where the AI of the Opera House was stored. Its complex systems snaking through the tunnels and filling catacombs like the limbs of a slumbering dragon.

It was too complex, built by dead gods, no Kree came here for even if the AI had needed them they could not have helped. It was the Divine Music. The cultural heritage of the Kree. It was what allowed them superiority over any other Empire. And they were helpless to its complexity.

The silver wires began to recede until only her arms and waist were held. Gently, reverently it lowered her until her pointing, reaching toes made it to the stones below.

He was there. She felt her breath catch and prick in her lungs. He was certainly a man, but his face was obscured behind white enamel. She could see glittering eyes through the openings but could not make out a colour. His mouth was free, and he smiled at her. She exhaled. She felt safe and cherished. She could see the gentleness of his countenance and the tawny colour of his hair where he slicked it back.

"Master?" She asked.

"Finally, Vers," his voice like a melody. "I have waited for you to be ready. I could not have been patient much longer."

He picked up the lamp and reached for her with his other hand.

"I have been so grateful-" she began. He paused and pulled her hand to his mouth. Stopping her words with a kiss to the back of her hand.

"Do not speak like that," his voice low and rumbling against her hand. "I wish to be selfish. Your sweetness would spoil it."

She laughed. No one called her sweet. She was rage-filled and determined. She was wild and irreverent. She was hopeless and reaching. She wanted though to be sweet for him.

He continued leading her deeper into the tunnels. She turned her head hoping to make out markers in the dark so she could find her way again. When he noticed her looking he pulled her more insistently, kept her closer to him. She wanted to pull away his mask but knowing the truth felt dangerous.

They came to a cavernous room, each wall was gnarled with steel and fibres as if the AI had grown into the walls sinking itself into the brick. She shivered as it was cold. The heat generated by the massive computer funnelled upwards and vented through the roof of the Opera House. Vers craned her head back and she thought she could almost see a square of night sky hundreds and hundreds of feet above at the end of the chimney.

She felt warmth slung around her shoulders as her master released her. He had given her his cloak. She wrapped it tightly around herself.

"Thank you, Master," she smiled.

"No gratitude," he reminded her with an irreverent wag of his finger. He stepped closer to her, taking her chin between his thumb and index finger. "I want payment for it."

"What kind of payment?" Her tongue darted out and wet the bow of her lips. He made her nervous.

"I want you to sing," he said quietly. He drew behind her and took her shoulders. He faced her to the heart of the AI. "I wish for your voice to live on forever in this creation. Sing for me."

"I have no music," she protested turning to look at him over her shoulder.

"You are the music. Sing what it is you feel," he urged her to look forward again and strange cold pressure seemed to grip her as her eyes focused only on the behemoth before her.

She began to sing and all around her the cavern glowed brightly. Then she was falling again.

* * *

Ronan was pacing the office of the Keeper. Woh-Lar had not yet vacated and he was stepping on Ronan's last nerve. It was insulting enough the enigmatic Vers had fled his company last night but now she was nowhere to be found. He had tried to access the central server but he was locked out. The blue glowing screen mocked him with its flashing.

He had summoned Woh-Lar who only looked at it wringing his hands. Ronan wished to break one of his wrists to stop him.

"It is because you have a message," he stuttered. His weepy eyes were wide and rat-like.

"How can I have a message when I cannot even locate the central operating system?" Ronan demanded, gesturing to the error message.

"You must speak to it," Woh-Lar answered nearly choking on his own breath.

"Excuse me?"

"Greet it. Ask to know what it is that is troubling it," Woh-Lar nodded encouragingly.

"I will not-" Ronan began when the office door was thrown open and Lor-Fal charged in. "Dama-"

"You offend me, sir" she accused throwing down a sliver of glass. "I am the lead singer of this Opera House."

"You left us, Dama," Ronan said evenly.

"I had hoped you had more spine," she said looking down her nose at him, ignoring Woh-Lar completely. "I hoped the Divine Music would speak to you."

Ronan glanced at Woh-Lar as he picked up the thin data screen she had hurled at him. It glowed in his hand and words dripped across in glittering glyphs.

"Dama Fal," Ronan read aloud. "Your tyranny is at an end at the Hala Opera House. Returning to the stage would be a mistake. Are you suggesting, Dama, that I wrote this?"

"Who else would dare?" She enunciated clearly, vibrating with fury. At that moment Or-Kal bustled into the room. He held nothing but his hands were extended in front of him as he shook with rage. 

"How dare my access be withdrawn," he declared holding his hands before him as if they had been the betrayer. "You think to lock the chorus out so only the corps can practice? This is the Opera House, the ballet is nothing without us."

"What has happened?" Woh-Lar squeaked.

"My hand no longer unlocks any door in this place. My clearance has been revoked."

Ronan gestured to the blinking screen, "you are not the only one that suffers, Menseigner. Do the dancers practice now? Is Vers among them?"

Lor-Fal and Or-Kal made a disgusted sound in unison.

"He is under her spell as well," Lor-Fal swooned into a nearby chair.

"I curse the day that foundling came to the Opera House," Or-Kal threw up his hands.

"Foundling?" Ronan repeated his brow darkening.

"Vers has been a dedicated member of the corps for six years, Or-Kal," Yon-Rogg appeared at the door. He lounged against it calmly his pale eyes observing the chaos.

"In polite circles, it is considered obscene for a man to make love to his pet," Lor-Fal's harsh consonants sliced the air more efficiently than a blade. Ronan's eyes burned into Yon-Rogg. He bristled, Ronan could see it from across the room, but his face did not move.

"A petty accusation that would crumble under scrutiny," Yon-Rogg answered her coming into the room.

"Why has Vers vanished after such triumph?" Woh-Lar asked. He wrung his hands and Ronan felt rage prickle down his spine at the crass display of ego before him.

"I have come to inform the Keeper that Vers is resting. The night before overwhelmed her."

"If that is all, you can leave," Or-Kal said snidely from the corner of his mouth.

"I have also come to collect your answer to the Divine Music," Yon-Rogg was focused on Ronan as if no others existed.

"Why would you take my answer?" Ronan demanded, forgetting for a moment he had received no question.

"It has been the way of it, the Divine Music has in the past preferred to commune with me. If you feel you can make the answer yourself then I shall leave you," Yon-Rogg inclined his head in a way that made Ronan wanted to grip his skull between his hands.

"I have been asked no question."

Yon-Rogg's eyes looked to the screen, "it looks as if you have a message waiting."

Ronan turned back to the screen.

"If you ask it, it will show you," Woh-Lar encouraged. Ronan curled his lip at him and wondered how many times Woh-Lar had begged the console for access. As if it was his withholding wife.

He swallowed his annoyance and tried to speak evenly to the computer. He felt a fool and his resentment dripped from his words. "Good Morning, what is your message?"

The screen wavered for a moment and then there was a flicker of darkness. The words appeared on the screen.

Glyphs glowing white slowly swirled into shape across the screen. All read silently.

_"Vers is to be the new Dama of the Opera House. I shall be pleased with no others. Defy me at your own risk."_

Lor-Fal threw back her head and laughed. She pointed an accusing finger at Yon-Rogg, "a pathetic trick. Throw his pet into the street. This goes too far."

Ronan raised his hands and a tepid calm descended even as Rogg's gold eyes narrowed at the Dama.

"I will make my answer. You all must leave."

There was protesting from the rabble but Ronan turned his back on them. Only Rogg bowed silently and left.

"What will you do?" Lor-Fal demanded as she swayed to her feet, bracelets and earrings jangling.

"Nothing shall change, Dama," he assured her without turning, his eyes fixed on the screen. "The Divine Music, as you call it, has underestimated its opponent. We both serve a higher master, the Spirit of Kree Culture. And that Master bows to no one."

Placated, the Dama huffed and swept from the room. Ronan was left in the blue glow of the central system.


	3. All I Ask of You

Vers woke in a bed that was not her own. Her cot in the dormitories was narrow with only one pillow. This bed was a bank of crisp white linens that rose around her like clouds. Weak Hala sunlight drifted in through the window. Another clue. She had no windows.

She looked down and found herself still wrapped in her dressing gown, beneath was the costume corsetry from the night before. She recalled only small glimpses. She had sung. Ronan had wanted to go to dinner and then the man had come. This was where the night became hazy. She remembered impossible things.

The door opened and she sat up, clutching the blanket to her. Yon-Rogg was there. The covers where they sat below her nose had a familiar smell, his shaving oil and the smell of the dormitory laundries. This was his bed.

"Menseigner," she ducked her head. The sound that came from her throat was low and scratchy. "How-"

"Don't speak," Yon-Rogg held a hand up to her. She closed her lips. "You overexerted yourself last night."

He came to the edge of the bed and pulled the sheets away from her. She shied away from him for a moment her eyes widening. Her tongue longed to demand an answer to why she was here, but he had instructed her not to talk and the soreness of her throat encouraged obedience.

"Put your arm about me," he instructed. She quirked her head and he lifted her arm to his shoulders. He nodded down the bed to where her feet had left bloody dirt swirls in the linens. "Some things can be replaced and others cannot. Now you are awake I want to see how badly you have hurt yourself."

"Menseigner-" she croaked. He waved away her concerns as he lifted her. She had been in his arms twice in the last cycle. More she thought as he carried her to the ensuite. A moment emerged from the haze of the night before. Of Yon in the console room. Of him speaking gently to her, touching her face, and taking her into his arms.

He sat her on the counter, her back against the cold mirror. He ran a basin of water. He took up a cloth and knelt at her feet. It felt wrong to be above him, her teacher, her saviour. He took one heel in his hand and washed the blood and dirt from her foot. She hissed as it stung. He looked up at her, his gold eyes intense and his brow furrowed. She tried to smile. It had not hurt. It had only been a surprise.

He moved the cloth as high as her knee. Her skin prickled as the warm water dried. He refreshed the cloth and the water was tinged light blue by her blood. It was not shocking. To achieve true beauty often a dancer's feet bled. He took her other foot with the same care and washed it.

He lay the cloth aside and took up her heel again. He rotated her ankle slowly. His fingers gripping into her tendons as if their flesh spoke in a way she could not hear. His gripping hand traveled up her calf, squeezing the muscle until he reached her knee. He stood slowly as he worked until he was leaning over her. His thumb and middle finger pressed into the joint as his other hand encouraged her to raise her leg. Her toes drifted along his inseam and she forgot how to breathe. He sensed it and looked at her. He held her gaze as she slowly exhaled and nodded. Her legs were fine. He tested the other and Vers curled her fingers into the unforgiving edge of the marble. She willed herself not to tremble.

"You must have questions," he said gently to her. He opened a drawer beside her calf and for a moment he leaned over her. Vers felt the instant need to run her fingers through his sandy hair. She stilled herself. It was only the overwhelming events of last night that made her so weak. That made her long to cling to him as she hadn't since he had brought her to Hala Opera House six years ago.

He knelt in front of her again and pressed the sole of her foot to the centre of his chest. Beneath her toes she could feel the warm spring of flesh and the smooth crinkle of cotton. He wrapped her feet with a bandage. She winced at the small dots of blue she left on his shirt.

"Your true master is tightly bound to the Divine Music that sustains this Opera House," Yon explained while he worked. "You must never defy his wishes."

"Why me?" She asked in a careful whisper.

"You are the most deserving. You should be honoured."

He stood and extended his hands to her so she could slip from the counter. She looked up at him. She touched his shirt gently where the blue of her blood marked him. His blood too. When he had found her she had been near death. His blood had saved her. He had given her a home like she could never have imagined.

He wrapped his hand around hers, "somethings can be replaced."

She sagged against the counter and allowed the quiet of his suites to envelop her. It was never this quiet in the dormitories. They must be on a high floor of the Opera House. Where the orchestra and the hurry could not reach. She turned her hands so her palms faced his. She brought one hand to her lips and kissed it, then the other. His chest stilled as if he was holding his breath. She kept her head bowed as she let him go. She could not look at him. Not when she had no voice and only the vulernability of her eyes.

He reached for her and brushed her cheek. A caress so brief she could barely believe it happened. She thought he looked behind her for a moment and then he stepped away. She felt the resistance in him. He was her teacher. She could not pursue what she felt but she needed to know in the cold light of day that she was not alone in feeling it.

"Vers," she looked away from him. Embarrassed by the instinct that had led her this far. "I came to Opera House as you did. With nothing but my body to offer in service to the Kree. It has been my honour to hold my position here."

She bit her lip and nodded.

"When the Divine Music came to me I was as overwhelmed as you. It is only with time I have learned what it means to serve this master. I have become the Protector of this place. The Music and your master bids me to protect you as well. I cannot do that as a man. They would not allow it. You will understand with time."

She nodded.

"I am going to the Keeper this morning. You have been missed. You may stay here until you are rested. Minn-Erva will come to care for you."

She looked at him with shocked eyes. "No," she croaked.

"I can ask no one else. She is the Leader of the Corps and more is expected of her."

She took a painful step towards him. She winced. He moved to her. He took her shoulders gently in his hands.

"Rest," he instructed her. As he stepped away his hands moved to the buttons of his shirt. He stripped it away in the room, pulling up the soiled linens as well. Vers watched him from the doorway, admiring the graceful way each limb moved.

She heard behind her a low moaning note, as if the sound emerged from the brass plumbing that fed the room. She turned her heart in her throat. She saw in the mirror the flickering of a face in a mask. It was gone before she could be sure. She stumbled backwards from the room. Into Yon's arms.

"Never forget Vers," he said setting her on her feet again. "The Divine Music is everywhere in the Opera House."

* * *

Ronan walked the backstage of the Opera House, above him he saw the rigging and the lights. The backs of sets and discarded props. There was something eerie about the place and yet it was full of life. Above him the fly tower seemed to go on forever. The deeper he walked each surface seemed to drip and curl with silver filament wire.

The AI

The system that caused him such a headache. He wanted to rip it from the rigging with his bare hands.

He looked between the flats and saw a girl on stage moving through forms. Percise, graceful and sky blue. The lead dancer Yon-Rogg so easily banished to the wings.

There were footsteps and Ronan sunk further into the shadows.

"You weren't at practice," Or-Kal observed. He circled the young dancer. She ignored him. Her head tilting and eyes following the motion of her limbs. "Do you think he will relinquish his pet if you keep his secrets?"

Ronan listened carefully. The girl was silent but so much was given away by the curving of her spine. Her muscles spoke and Ronan could read her easily. Or-Kal was a bull. He walked with heavy steps and his face gave away his annoyance.

He caught her wrist and the dancer immediately became pliant. They feared for their limbs these beautiful icicle girls. Each joint more valuable than gold. Or-Kal pulled her close. And though she kept her eyes steadfastly lowered she did not resist him.

"Where is Vers? Will she try to take Lor-Fal's place?" Or-Kal demanded.

"We are not in each other's confidences," Minn-Erva answered him.

Or-Kal shook her and the girl grit her teeth.

Ronan considered intervening but around him he felt the slithering of wires. The small shards of light passing through the sets caught on the slowly reaching filament wires.

"Is this Rogg's plan? Infilitrate the Chorus and control everything?" Or-Kal demanded, the girl allowed herself to be jerked about. Her other hand steadying her wrist.

"Yon-Rogg serves the Divine Music," she protested as Or-Kal seethed. He let her go in disgust. The slithering sound stopped.

"You are all fools. You believe this AI has desires, that it has power here. I have never heard such foolishness," Or-Kal threw up his hands. "All that matters is we please the Kree. That we continue to display our superiority of culture and refinement. Lor-Fal is our vessel and she will not be replaced by some pale rat from a backwater."

There was a dangerous rattling sound like a beast shaking its scales. The young dancer was pale as she looked about.

"Please Menseigner, the Music hears you," the girl said softly. Beneath her voice was steel.

"I thought you less of a fool, Minn-Erva," Or-Kal spat his judgement. The dancer clenched her jaw. "When Rogg is not besotting his dancers he is filling your head with maniacal nonsense-"

There was above them the echo of a note, so loud and so low the rafters shook and the rigging swung. All looked up in shock.

Minn-Erva stepped farther away from Or-Kal as if she thought the chandelier would fall on him.

"You speak at your own risk, Menseigner. I will not be implicated in it," the dancer said as she fled the stage. Or-Kal was left shaking looking up for a source of the sound.

* * *

Minn-Erva had brought her clothes. She had not asked questions or even looked at the bandaging of her feet. Vers had shed her robe and turned away from Minn-Erva. The lead dancer had come behind her without hesitation and began to unlace the jewelled corset. Her fingers tugging at the laces as the bodice loosened. Vers kept her head lowered and her arms crossed in front of her. It was strange being in Yon-Rogg's room with Minn-Erva. They were alone together and in her icy silence Ver could feel Minn-Erva's suspicion. She longed to return to the dormitories where it was loud and she could be ignored.

The room was white, every surface reflecting light. Vers felt pale and colourless here. Minn-Erva was like a sapphire in snow. Vers longed to be as beautiful as her.

It felt good to wear her own clothes again. Minn-Erva took her costume over her arm and walked to the kitchen. She place the bundle by the door and the crumpled pile looked even filthier than they had when Vers was wearing them. Vers drifted after her. Silent. Not knowing how to exist in this space.

There was a sound and the door opened.

Yon-Rogg had returned. Minn-Erva moved to first position her head bowed. Vers did the same. Yon-Rogg acknowledged them and they lifted their heads. Everything in sync even when they were not. Yon-Rogg shrugged off his coat, hanging it by the door.

"Minn-Erva, take everything to Costuming then go to your practice. Return when it is time for the show."

"Yes, Menseigner" Minn-Erva answered him. She moved immediately to follow his instructions but behind his back she gave Vers a look that spoke of pure loathing. Vers bit her tongue and lowered her head. No matter her commitment to the Corps her closeness with the Menseigner would always single her out.

When she was gone Yon-Rogg gestured to a chair and Vers sat. He moved around his kitchen with ease. He boiled water and Vers watched him silently.

"You will perform again tonight," Yon-Rogg told her. He spooned honey from a small black jar. The sugar crystals caught the light as he let it fall in a thick ribbon into a mug. Vers' stomach clenched. He brought it to her. Their hands touched briefly as she took it from him. She felt foolish all over again. He held her gaze. "The Divine Music wishes for you to sing the lead but Ronan will not allow it. He has sided with Lor-Fal. It is a dangerous choice."

"I won't," she answered him. She drank the hot water and honey he gave her. It stung but it refreshed her. As if the filth and grime from the lowest reaches of the Opera House had coated her throat and were now being washed away.

"You must, Vers."

"I won't. I can't."

"I know you feel that way now but you must understand that you serve a higher purpose. The Divine Music is a kind master but they won't be denied," he walked away from her running his hands through his hair.

She put her mug aside and pursued him. "The Keeper defies him-"

"And you shall see the price to be paid for it."

"I can barely walk, how can I dance?"

"You are no longer part of the Corps," he told her, his words harsh but not unkind. Vers felt as if the air had been pulled from her lungs.

"No, you can't-"

He crossed the room to her and took her elbows gently. His gaze willed her to breathe.

"It is not my choice," he said soothingly. "The Divine Music wants you to sing."

"Stop saying that to me," she broke away from him. Her voice was scratching and if she could have sobbed it would have felt like knives. "I do not like this, Menseigner."

"Vers," his voice dipped low and caressed something deep within her. "Do not deny their love."

"It is not their love I want," she turned away from him. She ran her hands over her arms willing the shuddering she felt to stop.

"I am no longer your teacher-" Yon took a step towards her.

"Then what are you?" She demanded. She looked at every surface as if beneath danger lurked.

He stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle and laying his cheek on her hair.

"I am your protector and your friend," he swayed with her slightly. His arms holding her against the firm wall of his chest. "Trust me, Vers. Trust me to guide you."

She leaned against him, allowing the thrum of his heart beat to soothe her. She closed her eyes and covered his hands with her own.

"What am I to do?"

"Rest. I can tell you have not slept."

She turned in his arms and reached to encirle him.

"I do not wish to sleep."

"This will all seem less overwhelming once you have slept," he assured her. He brushed his fingers over her cheek again. She stood on her toes, and the arches of her feet ached. She leaned into him. Her eyes dropping to his mouth.

"Menseigner," she whispered as his arms tightened.

"Do not tempt me, Vers," he said with a smile. He gripped her chin, laying a thumb across her lips. He tilted her head and kissed beside her mouth. She opened her lips and bit the tip of his thumb. He leaned forward pressing his forehead to her shoulder. He made a sound, half annoyance half desire, deep in his throat.

"If I am no longer in the Corps where am I to sleep?" She teased, turning to speak softly in his ear.

"It is a large Opera House," he answered straightening and holding her at arm's length. "For now sleep here."

He walked her back slowly towards the bedroom and she let him. Her eyes sparkled as she held his gaze. He thought she had never looked prettier, but he seemed always to be thinking that. There was something new about her beauty every time he saw her.

He had struggled against himself as her teacher. His fears had grown when he had found her communing with the Divine Music. She did not understand the forces she meddled in, but he could not deny her skill if the Divine had selected her. His first duty was always to the preservation and elevation of Kree Culture.

He had made her Kree with the giving of his blood. He had seen something inside her that longed to be nurtured. He could not be jealous a greater master now sought her.

Nor could he allow his desires for her to cloud his purpose. If the Divine Music loved her, he could not sully her with his imperfect body.

When they reached the bedroom, she broke from him willingly to slide beneath the sheets. She sighed stretching among his pillows.

"Will my bed be like this?" She asked, settling her cheek on a pillow and stroking the place next to her. How easy it would be to slip in beside her.

"It will be nicer," he assured her. He kept his feet planted and she rolled her eyes as she yawned. She sighed again prettily rolling to her back.

"How will you know?" She quirked her lips at him invitingly. She already looked ready to sleep. Soft, feminine and dangerously inviting.

"I shall have faith the Opera House will provide well for its rising star," he teased her back. He pulled a chair close and sat with his feet on the bed.

She stuck her tongue at him before closing her eyes. Her fingers made small circles above her navel as she allowed sleep to creep towards her.

"Have you only been kind to please the Divine?" She asked in a hesitating voice. Vulnerable with sleep.

"When duty is given where instinct already leads it brings greater conviction," he answered her. She nodded. He would have protected her anyway. The stakes were only higher if she was to be the Dama.

Silence fell as the sound of her breathing deepened. Silver wires crept from his headboard, fanning across the pillows before twisting together around her throat. Yon-Rogg bit his tongue as he watched them, swallowing his unease. Her brow twitched as lights every colour of the spectrum moved like raindrops down the wires.

This was all part of the Divine's plan.


End file.
